


Intimate

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Angel and Spike have never been intimate. Except that one...





	Intimate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kudagirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kudagirl/gifts).



> This is for **kudagirl** who requested: _a fic about that one time between Spike and Angel. You know the one Spike mentioned to Illyria. Could it be sorta sad and/or silly somehow?_
> 
> Okay, sooooo.... I liked 'sorta sad' and I wanted to go somewhere new with this prompt, somewhere I hadn't been before... I decided that for it to truly be the two of them being intimate, it had to be their first time as soul-brothers. :D
> 
> Forgive me. This is late and actually quite a bit... girly.

Intimate.

It meant different things over time. When Spike had been a boy, it meant being able to call someone by their first name. Then it meant the press of flesh, breathing in an exhaled sigh. It meant licking gore from dainty fingers and sharing a lifetime of fragmented memories. Then it meant holding someone, gently, in an abandoned bed.

So Spike had a wide range of definitions to choose from when Angel asked him if he remembered “being intimate”.

Angel’s cheek was smooshed against the coffee table, adding a deflated air to his drunken state. Spike snorted and, after the second attempt, got his glass back on the table next to Angel’s. “With you? Name once.”

Angel picked his head up a bit to squint. “You know.”

“Mate, if I knew what you were talking about half the time, I’d be one brilliant vampire.” Spike smiled sleepily. “I mean, I _am_ , but that’s beside the point.”

With a gusty exhale, like a big, drunk dog, Angel said, “Fine. Do you remember the time we had sex?” He ran a hand over his face, talking more to it than Spike, “There’s no poetry in being blunt, why do you always have to make everything blunt?”

Spike stared at Angel, waiting for him to peek back out from behind his meaty fingers. “Because ‘intimate’ is too beautiful a word to reduce to a euphemism.”

Angel looked miserable and said nothing, so Spike relented. He moved from the couch to the floor next to Angel and tried to put his arm over the pouf’s shoulders, but Angel batted him away with a pouty, slurred, “Don’ wan’ your sympathy.”

“Who else has some to give you?” Spike smiled, half-fond, feeling less drunk now he was on the nice sturdy floor. “Liam, no one understands you like I do. I know – depressing thought, but it doesn’t have to be. Tell me what’s really bothering you and I promise to make a genuine effort not to laugh.”

Angel shifted slightly away with him and toyed with his empty glass.

Spike sighed. “You’re soused enough you can get away with talking about your emotions. Spill. I’ve got a date in an hour.”

Angel looked wary, and Spike supposed he couldn’t blame him, so he waited patiently, though half his mind was on the liquor cabinet and how inconveniently far it was.

Finally, Angel drew in a long breath, straightened a bit, and said, “No one touches me anymore.”

Spike made a dismissive noise and got a glare for his trouble. Angel got up and stomped over to the liquor cabinet.

Well, one problem fixed, anyway. Spike leaned back against the couch-seat behind him. “If it’s hugs you want, Fred’ll dole ‘em out. Even Wes might, he likes you enough. Gunn’s good for a pat on the back. And I happen to know your secretary has loose morals.”

Angel poured the whisky with his back to Spike. “No one is _intimate_ with me, anymore. And I can’t say anyone has been in a long time… not anyone that understood who I really am.”

Angel turned around, a glass in each hand, his expression daring Spike to make fun of him.

Spike didn’t. Though he thought to himself that the daft bugger brought it on himself by pulling that ‘mysterious stranger’ crap, he buried the thought and gestured for Angel to hurry on up with the drinks. It gave him a moment to think of something else to say. “Has anyone, ever? Aside from Darla?”

Spike winced at the flash of anger on Angel’s face. No, that hadn’t been the safest road to steer the conversation down. Spike cleared his throat, “What I meant…”

“You’re right,” Angel said, and he slammed the whisky glass down in front of Spike, sloshing some of the precious liquid over the rim. “Do yourself a favor and don’t gloat about it.”

Every line of Angel’s body spoke of his anger. He drained his glass standing and then dropped it next to Spike’s full one. He turned to stomp out of the room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Spike levered himself up. “You’re killing my buzz, you know.”

“Get out,” Angel said, not looking back.

Spike followed him into the bedroom. Angel turned to him with a pained look, frozen in the process of taking his tie off.

“Look, you sad, melodramatic git,” Spike said, and batted Angel’s hands out of the way, slipping the silk tie free and dropping it. “The fact is, you can’t expect to find someone who understands what it’s like to be a formerly-evil vampire. We’re our own special little brand of fucked up.” He unbuttoned Angel’s shirt for him and nudged him toward the bed. Angel didn’t put up any resistance. Spike got him to sit down and took his shoes off for him. “You’re drunk and depressed and broody. Sleep it off.” Spike pulled the bedcovers back and stepped out of the way, hoping Angel wasn’t expecting him to tuck him in.

Angel was looking at him with an almost worried expression.

Spike groaned. “What?”

Angel lifted one shoulder. “This is kind of… intimate.”

“Git,” said Spike, and pushed on his shoulder.

Angel grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “It is.”

Spike looked down at Angel’s hand on his wrist, and then at Angel’s earnest expression. He licked his lips and chose to diffuse the situation. “Look at that, Little Liam’s grown up and learned the true meaning of ‘intimate’.”

Angel brushed the bottom of Spike’s wrist with his thumb and then brought the hand to his lips. Spike felt a thrum of excitement and coughed. “So you _did_ bring that one time up because you were randy.”

Angel turned Spike’s hand and kissed the palm. “Mostly,” he admitted. His expression was unreadable, his eyes steady on Spike. “You really didn’t think that was intimate, back in Paris?”

Spike felt a shiver that wasn’t entirely due to the soft breath puffing against his inner wrist. “It… I…” Spike closed his eyes and tried to block out the sensation of Angel making slow love to the palm of his hand. “Honestly? You didn’t care who or what you were shoving your cock into that night. Was the point, wasn’t it?”

“I care now,” Angel said. He leaned back, pulling Spike after him onto the bed. Spike almost remembered to resist, but then it was too late, he was sprawled on top of Angel, looking down at him. Angel had Spike’s wrist in hand over his own head and a smile on his face.

“You’re drunk,” Spike said.

“Only enough to make it okay to talk about my feelings,” Angel retorted, and lifted his thigh between Spike’s, pressing into the hardness he found there. Spike groaned. He hadn’t meant to get so turned on, but it was clear how hard he was, his dick aching for more friction as Angel pressed and lifted against him. Spike’s free hand found Angel’s erection almost without thinking. He rubbed soft wool while Angel worked against thick denim and their lips just found each other.

“Pouf,” Spike said, breaking the kiss.

Angel rolled them over, pinning Spike’s wrists to the bed. “I’m really not,” he said, a hint of danger in his tone.

Spike held his gaze a while. “I know,” he said, and tilted his head, exposing his neck.

Angel’s fangs sank in smooth and firm, like gratitude.


End file.
